


Denial

by LozaMoza



Series: Moments [11]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, But we still love him, F/M, Geralt is an idiot, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, One Shot, because Geralt and Yennefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: Ciri keeps having trances at Kaer Morhen, and Geralt is forced to reach out for help from someone skilled in magic.orHow Geralt convinces himself to reach out to Triss instead of Yennefer for help with Ciri in KM.Stupid witcher...
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Moments [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806943
Comments: 19
Kudos: 25





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

> My poor witcher, how I torture him.

The witchers stared at the sleeping girl, their breaths catching at each twinge of her muscles. Her eyes were moving rapidly behind her lids - she was obviously dreaming now - and her breathing was uneven and slightly raspy. She still looked a bit pallid, as if she was unwell, but some color had at least begun returning to her face, and it gave the Geralt hope of another recovery. 

“That’s the fourth one these past two months,” Lambert groaned as he took a swig of something clear in his mug. Vodka.

Vesemir shook his head. “They’re getting worse, Geralt. Much worse. Each one seems to be taking more out of her. And her recovery…”

“I know,” Geralt cut him off. “I know they’re worse.” He didn’t want to extrapolate, didn’t want to imagine the ramifications of what Vesemir was implying. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it, though?” he responded defensively. 

This particular episode had led to confusing visions that made no sense to any of them: castles and manacles and green eyes and mangled hands. The last time had been even darker. She had seen the deaths of Cӧen and Geralt by teeth. Two for Cӧen. Three for Geralt. Neither had given the thought much concern; witchers were doomed to die in some miserable way, so death by teeth hardly seemed unlikely. 

What was more worrisome is that it wasn’t an accidental ingestion of white gull that led to this last vision and subsequent fever-state. The vision had come on suddenly, with no preamble or reason, and it had scared them all. 

“Geralt, we need to talk to someone trained in handling this. These visions are beyond the arcane knowledge we possess.” Eskel ran a cloth over Ciri’s forehead and the girl twitched violently at the cold contact but did not wake. “I’m worried they’ll only worsen, and she won’t come out of them.”

“How do we know this is even related to magic?” Geralt retorted. “She can’t produce a simple sign, and from what I understand, witcher signs are base-level magic.” He began to think of Yennefer, of how she created that kestrel in front of him, something from nothing, but he forced himself to stop. 

“It has to be magic. She must be some kind of medium. You know there is something different about her. She’s certainly not a normal girl.” Eskel responded

It was true, Ciri certainly was  _ not _ a normal child. He knew the secrets of her lineage, the power Pavetta held within her veins. He had seen its strength, and its wrath.

No, she was not a normal girl, but was she a magician?

“You know who we need to ask,” Eskel pressed.

“No.” Geralt replied curtly. 

“Geralt, she’s the most qualified to look at the girl and see…”

“No.”

“Your damn stubbornness is going to get Ciri killed,” Eskel growled back. Geralt said nothing. He could not reach out to her. Not after Belleteyn and Sodden. Not after the Hill. She would never forgive him. Could he ever forgive himself?

“There might be another…” Vesemir cut in, staring at Geralt. 

“We’ve already got her taking the mushrooms,” Geralt groaned.

“Be quiet and listen. I’m not talking about the damn mushrooms. She needs someone with some magical skill. What about Triss Merigold?” 

At the name, Geralt’s face twitched uncomfortably.

“Merigold? She’s pretty young,” Lambert replied. “Think she could handle this?”

“Well, she’s got more training in magic than any of us sitting around here,” quipped Vesemir. “She may not be the most experienced, but she knows where Kaer Morhen is for one thing, and she would come to help I’m sure.” Vesemir peered again at Geralt. “Unless of course you’re willing to send for someone more skilled. You know she would come, Geralt.”

Geralt released a heavy sigh. The pain behind his chest threatened to steal his voice away. “I know,” he finally whispered. “I know, but I can’t.”

“Who is this other person that’s got Geralt in such a state? Man must have his smallclothes tied in bunches ‘round his balls by the way he looks,” laughed Lambert.

Eskel scowled. “Leave it, Lambert. Stop being such a damn prick.”

“Touchy,” Lambert replied. “Obviously a woman.”

“Lambert, if I wanted your fucking opinion I’d ask for it.” With that, Geralt picked Ciri up to carry to her room. 

“Geralt, this isn’t something you can avoid. You need to ask one of them. Ciri needs help, and that outweighs everything else,” Vesemir stated. 

Geralt looked at the witchers, cursed under his breath, and carried the girl to bed.

*******

It had been two hours of him staring absently at the parchment, unable to write anything beyond “Dear”. Who was he going to ask? His heart knew the answer without a moment's hesitation: Yennefer. She was the one who told him to ride to Cintra. She was the one he dreamed of constantly; who he loved so much it physically hurt to be away from her. At times, when his guard was down, he’d even find himself imagining her there, like she had been before when everything was good between them. In his mind’s eye, he could see her brushing Ciri’s hair as she taught her lessons, smiling at something the child would say. He imagined her wishing the girl goodnight, tucking a strand of her ashen locks behind her ears before she walked out of the room, and Geralt could see himself sweeping her into his arms to make love bathed in moonlight like she always longed to do in the old keep.

He was certain she would come to Kaer Morhen. He didn’t know where they stood as them, but she would come for Ciri. And then he could tell her what a fool he had been; what fools they both had been. And he could apologize for his cowardice, for his doubt and uncertainty, and they could finally accept the longing both of them had fought so hard against.

And the three of them could, perhaps, be a family.

Geralt felt a warmth so complete go through him at the thought of a family with Yennefer and Ciri that it stole his breath away. A gift witchers were never granted could be his. Theirs. 

Darkness stole back inside him immediately, shutting out that brief warmth in its bitter embrace. Witchers were never given happy endings. Witchers were meant to live and die on the Path, alone. Hadn’t it always been this way? And he was, beyond all else, a witcher. Who was he to wish for a family? 

Triss held her own set of problems. He knew how she felt about him. He still did not understand how he ended in her bed that night, so long ago, but it was something he felt nothing but shame for. He had hurt her in that act; it was quite obvious it meant more to Triss than to him. And most importantly, he had hurt Yennefer. Her best friend...did she even know? 

Yet another moment he had failed her. Who was he to ask for her forgiveness? Why should she ever forgive him?

“We’re made for each other, Yen,” he whispered, his voice pained. “But destiny is not enough. You were right, something more is needed.” He didn’t know if they would ever find it. If there was anything in this world that could be it. 

He sat the quill to the parchment:  _ Dear Triss… _

*******

From the other side of the keep, Ciri stirred in her sleep, muttering softly as she dreamt of violet eyes. She would not remember them when she woke in the morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine how much different the story could have gone had Geralt reached out to Yennefer first? Sigh...


End file.
